


Trail

by supportingcharacters (orphan_account)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: JeanMarco Week, M/M, v. brief mentions of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/supportingcharacters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jeanmarco week day #2: prompt: inspiration</p><p>Jean, a journalist at a small magazine is struggling to churn out his articles for every issue. However, suddenly one single event completely changes everything. He becomes sucked into something that's bigger than any magazine article. With the lives of many people hanging in the balance will Jean be able to follow the trail Marco left?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trail

Jean stumbled into the office, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Jean was not a morning person. Every morning he came in, barely able to focus on pressing the right button on the elevator. Usually he would spend the first hour doing virtually nothing – at least, nothing that was of any real use to anyone.

“G’morning. You look terrible.”

“Shut it, Jaeger.” Another reason Jean didn’t like mornings: it was way too early to deal with someone like Eren Jaeger. Unfortunately, Eren worked at the same magazine as Jean did (he worked at the very next desk) and Eren was always bright eyed and bushy tailed before Jean had even woken up.

Jean slumped down in the shitty office chair, starting up his computer and taking a long drink from his coffee cup. To his annoyance, Eren pushed out from his desk, sliding over on his dumb wheely office chair so he was beside Jean, wearing his shit-eating grin.

“Our meetings today,” he said. “What are you handing up?” It sounded like casual conversation, but Jean knew better.

He groaned, his head falling into his hands.

The _“Scouting Legion,”_ was a small magazine, published once a fortnight. Although it wasn’t one of the most read magazines in the country, it was known to be bought by those who wanted a good read, instead of reading mindless gossip about celebrities. It covered actual stories that didn’t make the newspaper, reviews and columns. Each journalist had their own topic to write a piece on every two weeks. Then their editor, Erwin Smith would decide which ones made the cut.

Eren’s pieces had been featured a lot recently. The same couldn’t be said for Jean.

Jean knew he had himself to blame. But he couldn’t exactly admit that, oh no, he had _way_ too much pride. He denied it, saying that he had a fucking hard topic to write about. He was the _crime_ correspondent! It was difficult to find interesting stories that hadn’t been covered by every newspaper out there. Eren was writing about _music_. He got to go to concerts and write reviews of new albums and spend his time in coffee shops listening to up and coming artists playing guitar! (Jean knew Eren did a lot of work for his articles, but he would never give Eren the credit he was due).  
to find out a good story, Jean would have to crawl around crime scenes and police stations. And it was hard to find a story first, too. Most crime stories had been done to death by the major newspapers and magazines by the time the _Scouting Legion_ published. At that point, nobody would be interested reading it (although the last few months, Jean had pulled this type of crap anyway). To catch the public’s eye, he needed something juicy! After the newspaper/carrion birds had finished picking away at the major crime stories, all that was left for the little birdies like Jean were the stories about a thief who had stolen three cell phones.

Jean would prattle those excuses off to everybody; Eren, Erwin, even himself. But he knew that the reason he didn’t find his own stories was because of his simple lack of inspiration.

He wasn’t half as inspired or motivated enough to start his own investigation. Well, investigation was a bit too strong of a word. Jean never saw anything that inspired him to do his own research. Nothing that inspired him to do some ground work, get down at the scene, interview police officers and do his own bit of poking and prodding.

Erwin, the editor, had noticed this too. He had told Jean that the quality of his work had fallen dramatically. Erwin liked Jean, and he knew the younger could write, but he had to put his foot down. He had told Jean that he wanted a good, publishable article ready before the publish date.

Every two weeks, Scouting Legion published a new copy on Thursday. The staff had a meeting to check progress the Tuesday before.

It was now the Tuesday, and Jean had nothing to show at the meeting.

 _And he really needed this job, too._  
“  
Piss off, Jaeger,” he mumbled. Eren would have undoubtedly kept teasing Jean, if it hadn’t been for the arrival of Connie, the sports reporter. He quickly scuttled off to greet Springer, doing some weird sort of childish handshake.

Jean rolled his eyes, turning on his computer and opening google. He went back to his musings.

His problem was that he needed…inspiration. But where the hell was he going to find inspiration?

He opened the website of the national newspaper. He needed something to make himself look busy.

_No, what you really need is some goddamn inspiration._

_Shut up._

_Wow, Kirstein. Arguing with yourself. You’re losing it._

The images and articles finally finished loading on the website, and Jean picked up his coffee. But then he read the headline, registered what the image was showing and his fingers went numb. The coffee slid from his hand, falling to the floor with a faint thud as the plastic lid came off.

“What the fuck Jean?” he faintly heard Eren yell. He barely registered his voice though. “You’ve gotten coffee all over the floor! Man, Levi’s gonna kill you!”

Eren stomped over to his computer. “What’re you looking at anyway?” He leaned over Jean’s shoulder, and he too, froze.

Eren found his voice quicker than Jean. “Shit,” he said. Unlike most of the time, his voice wasn’t angry or teasing. “I’m sorry dude,” he said, patting Jean’s shoulder.

Jean was still focused on the article though. He barely blinked as he re-read the article for the third time.

**“Gory photos of tragic suicide leaked by police officer,” the headline read.**

Underneath, there was a photo of an all-too-familiar face. A face half drenched in blood from a severe head wound. Unseeing eyes (eyes that had once been so full of life). A body lying on the ground.

Underneath, the caption read _“The body of Marco Bott, 27, found after he jumped from the 4th floor of a building on the outskirts of Trost city this morning.”_

***

_“You really shouldn’t fight so much with Eren,” Marco said, putting a Band-Aid on Jean’s cheek. The two were sitting on Jean’s bed in their dorm. Jean and Eren fighting was definitely not a rare sight, despite Marco’s complaints._

_He meant well. They could end up seriously hurting each other. He told Jean as much every time, but Jean would always reply with “seriously hurting Eren is kind of my goal.”_

_So here they were: Jean with a black eye, cut cheek and bleeding lip._

_Jean grinned, showing all of his teeth. “Nah,” he said. “I kind of like you having to patch me up. I like being this close,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows._

_Marco laughed, before leaning in so close that their noses almost were touching. Jean wasn’t wiggling his eyebrows anymore. Marco put his hands on Jean’s shoulders, using them to keep his balance as he shifted from a sitting position to a kneeling position. He then tugged at the collar of Jean’s shirt, pulling him closer, there was barely any space between them now. Jean could count Marco’s freckles. His hands snuck up to grip Marco’s hips, steadying him. Their lips were so close now…_

_“I’m sorry. I can’t kiss you when your lip is all bloody,” Marco said, grinning and flopping back down on the bed._

_Jean made a whining noise in his throat._ “Marco!”

_Marco laughed. “If you want to get close you should just say,” he said. “So really, getting patched up is counterproductive.”_

_Jean grumbled. Marco smiled at him, sitting up so he could kiss his cheek._

_Over the next few weeks, the amount of times Eren and Jean fought decreased. However, Eren’s complaints of “being able to hear you two going at it like rabbits at night” rose considerably._

***

_“Graduation tomorrow,” Jean said, throwing his arm around Marco._

_“Mmm, feels weird to be leaving,” the older said, throwing his gaze around their room. The college dorm that the two had shared for the last few years was empty, emptier than it had been since they moved in. All of their possessions were packed away in boxes. Marco doubted the place had ever been so clean._

_“It feels good though,” Marco said. “We’re finally starting our lives together. We’re moving in properly, we’ll be out of college; we’ll have our own degrees, we’ll start our careers and I’ll finally be able to help my Mom out.”_

_Marco’s mother had been in hospital for a long time. She needed serious treatment – treatment that was quite costly. Jean knew that Marco was dying to begin earning so that he could help pay for the treatments._

_Jean smiled softly. He was incredibly nervous, but he’d be with Marco, so what was there to worry about? “You’re so sappy and clichéd,” he said. They both laughed._

***

 _“I can’t believe Eren’s working at the same place as me!” Jean yelled. “I mean, come on! I put up with the asshole through high school, through college and I thought I was finally rid of him! And then first day of the best job I’ve ever gotten,_ he’s fucking there!”

_Jean threw his hands up in the air._

_He then raised an eyebrow, looking at the brunette sitting on the couch. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning. “You’re very quiet.”_

_Marco dropped his gaze and Jean took a seat beside him. “Something happened,” Jean concluded, prompting Marco to speak._

_“I got a job offer in Sina,” Marco admitted._

_Jean raised his eyebrows. Sina was one hell of a ritzy place. He had once dreamed of working there. Everyone was stinking rich, and even the “low-paying” jobs got better paid than half of the jobs in Trost. Sina was a place for the best of the best, the richest of the rich. And while he would normally be delighted to hear Marco had gotten a job there but…_

_Sina was a long way away from Trost. And Jean couldn’t leave his current job: who knew when he’d get a job as good as it in journalism?_

_“I wouldn’t usually even consider it,” Marco continued. “I’m happy here…but Mom’s condition has worsened recently…she’s at a crucial stage in her treatment but we can’t afford it…” his voice wobbled slightly._

_Jean said nothing, put pulled Marco into a kiss. After a moment, he pulled away, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, resting his chin on his shoulder. “I understand,” he said. “Take that job. Pay for your Mom. Then come back to me.”_

***

_The first few months were fine. They texted, called, even video called on Skype most nights. However, as time went on, Marco’s texts and calls became less and less frequent, even when Jean made an effort to text every night._

_Soon, Marco stopped contacting him altogether. After a few weeks of hearing absolutely nothing from the other boy, Jean stopped calling him._

_No goodbye, no “we’re breaking up.” Just Jean being ignored._

_Jean was usually an honest man, but he was lying to himself. No matter how many times he made excuses like “long distance relationships never work out,” and “something could’ve happened, he might have lost your number,” he was still deeply hurt by Marco’s disappearance in his life._

_For six months he heard nothing of the boy. Not him or any of their old friends. Until the leaked pictures of his dead body were released in the newspapers. He hadn’t even died in Sina, he died in Trost. He had been back in the city and Jean hadn’t even known._

_He never managed to find out why he had ignored him. Never got a chance to say goodbye._

_And now, Marco Bott was dead._

***

The police officer raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying that Marco Bott didn’t commit suicide.”

Jean nodded. “Marco was always positive. No matter how dark the situation, he always had faith. He always looked on the bright side. I just can’t see him jumping off of a building.”  
Even now, Jean refused to believe this.

“Mr. Kirstein, all the evidence points to the conclusion that Mr. Bott jumped willingly.”

Jean’s brow furrowed. He crossed his arms defiantly. “Didn’t you see that head wound? It didn’t look like a wound one would get from jumping off of a building.”  
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting he was pushed?”

Jean hesitated. He wasn’t sure. Why would anyone want to kill Marco? “I just know that Marco wouldn’t jump willingly. He never gave up on anything. I know him better than anyone.”

“Is that so? Who were you to him?” The officer asked.

Jean squared his jaw. “His boyfriend.”

_(ex-boyfriend)_

The officer pursed his lips. “You said earlier that you didn’t know Bott was even in the city.”

“Well, that’s true but-”

“When was the last time you were in contact with Bott?”

Jean didn’t answer. 

The officer sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr Kirstein, but this case is closed. Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.”

Jean said nothing, just pushed his chair out and went to leave the room.

“Mr. Kirstien.”

Jean turned around. “What?” He knew he shouldn’t speak to a police officer like that, but he didn’t even care.

The officer handed him an envelope. Jean took it from him, glancing at the name. His stomach twisted itself in a knot. “Jean” was scrawled messily across the envelope. Despite it looking messy and hurried instead of its usual neatness, there was no mistaking Marco’s handwriting.

“It was found in Bott’s hotel room,” the officer said. “He was staying in the Grand Hotel uptown.”

Jean nodded, and left.

Half an hour later, he was lying on his bed at home. Eren told Erwin what had happened, and Erwin had given him the day off. 

Marco was dead. Marco was dead, and he never got the chance to find out what had happened between them. Jean wasn’t good at letting go, and despite not having spoken to the freckled man for months, he still loved him.

Had Marco loved him back? Had he ever loved him in the first place? Jean tilted his head to look at the framed picture of them on his bedside table. They were at the beach, both in swimming trunks. They had their arms around each other, Jean kissing Marco’s cheek and Marco smiling and flashing a peace sign.

Looking at Marco’s photo, Jean couldn’t help but think of the leaked photos of Marco’s dead body.

He remembered the officer’s words. “Did I ever know you?” he asked.

Shaking his head and sitting up, Jean grabbed the envelope and carelessly ripped it open. He yanked out the letter inside.

Like on the envelope, the letter was hastily written. It was also dated the day before. Jean frowned. A suicide letter? But…if Marco had jumped, why would he leave a suicide letter in his hotel room on the other side of the city?

Something was not right.

_Jean_

_I’m so sorry about what happened. I wish I could explain fully, but I don’t have time. I needed more money, and I got involved with the wrong crowd. I was worried that you would get involved with them, so I tried to cut you off._

Jean scoffed, feeling his eyes well up despite himself. If Marco was involved with some bad guys, that was even more reason for him to go back to Jean.

_Something bad is going to happen in Trost. I mightn’t have time to tell everyone. If something happens to me, you need to tell everyone. Remember when we were fifteen? The time with the adult novel. Remember Jean?_

_They’re coming for me I need to leave before they get here. I have to go. Im sorry I cant see you again I miss you so much I love you_

The letter ended abruptly. Jean’s hand was shaking. His breathing was shaky to.

He re-read the letter a few times before he processed what had actually happened.

“Fuck,” he muttered, cradling his head in his hands. “Fuck, Marco, what did you do?”

Tears were falling. Jean didn’t notice until he saw the tear stains on his jeans. He wasn’t sobbing or anything, it was like they were falling of their own accord.

Two things became clear to Jean in those moments.

One: the police had marked this case as closed. They were convinced Marco had committed suicide. They wouldn’t be any help.

Two: Marco Bott was murdered.

***

Jean stood in Marco’s hotel room. It had taken a while to get up here, but he needed to get to the end of this. If Marco was telling the truth in his letter, then something terrible was about to happen. And the police weren’t going to help. This was all up to Jean.

It was easy enough to bribe the receptionist into coming up here. The room wasn’t occupied anyway.

Jean clutched Marco’s last letter (the last words from Marco he would ever have; I love you kept ringing in his ears). He wanted to curl up into a ball and cry and grieve but Jean was surprisingly focused. Taking a deep breath, he reread the note.

_“Remember when we were fifteen? The time with the adult novel. Remember Jean?”_

When they were fifteen years old, Marco had found an adult novel in his parents’ room. When Jean slept over at his house, they were messing around: reading and giggling like schoolgirls at the thing. Marco wanted to find a good hiding place for it, so Jean helped him pull up the loose floorboard under his bed where they stored the book.

Jean wondered if it was still there.

The only conclusion he could come to was that Marco had hidden something under the floorboards. Nobody else knew that story apart from the two boys. It had taken a while for Jean to remember, but once he had worked out the code he realized that he could be putting his own life in danger: if Marco was hiding something it meant there was a chance someone he didn’t want reading this letter might have found it. Because it was in code, they wouldn’t know where to look, so there was a very real chance they might have followed Jean: the person who would know where it was.

Jean put those thoughts out of his head for now.

Back in Marco’s old room, the loose floorboard had been in the left corner closest to the headboard. That was the most likely place to start for Jean.

He moved over to the left side of the bed and dropped to his hands and knees. Crawling to the small space between the headboard and the wall, he dropped to his stomach. He reached in under the bed, pressing down on the floorboards.

He felt one of the boards shift slightly. Bingo.

Shining the light from his phone under his bed, he eventually managed to lift the floorboard. It wasn’t dusty, which was a sign they had been lifted recently.

With a jolt, he realized that Marco could have been in the exact same position, less than twenty four hours ago. Jean ignored the painful feeling in his chest and slid his hand in the gap. A number of sheets of paper were in there. Jean pulled them out.

The first was another letter, addressed to Jean.

_Jean,_

_Glad you worked out the code. I knew you could do it._

_I’m so sorry to get you involved in all of this, but you’re the only one I can trust. Go to 7 Baxter Way, there’s a warehouse there. Go to the fourth floor. Be wary of security cameras. On the fourth floor, remember out first time together. Be careful, they might be watching._

_The other pages with this letter include most of the incriminating evidence, but to get those responsible, go to the warehouse._

_Be careful. Good luck. I love you._

Jean sighed. Although written hastily, this one had a calmer air about it. He looked at the words “I love you,” for a long time. The address he was told to go to was the place where Marco had died.

Jean looked at the next page. It contained a diagram, showing all different wires and diodes. There were various warning symbols around the page. One corner showed instructions on “how to set the timer.” The next place had a map of Trost. Main Street in Trost was circled, as was the location of the warehouse. “Storage” was scrawled above the warehouse, “expls” above Main Street. There was also a time and a date; noon, in two days.

Jean’s frown deepened. He then saw the sentence Marco had scrawled in the corner:

_“They’re going to set a bomb off in the city.”_

***

Jean stood at the window where Marco had “jumped.” It had been easy to get into the warehouse. The police had wrapped this case up quickly, so the building wasn’t under investigation any longer. The door had been locked, but Jean had climbed up a fire escape and got into the sixth floor through an unlocked window. He then made his way to the fourth floor.

Jean looked at the window sill. Any doubts he’d had this morning about Marco being murdered were long gone. He felt his eyes water; Marco had stood here. Marco’s last moments were on this very spot. How had he felt when he was pushed? Scared?

The thought of Marco spending his last moments terrified made Jean want to punch somebody in the face.

“Focus,” he whispered to himself. “There’s a lot at stake here.”

_“On the fourth floor, remember out first time together.”_

Their first time together was something Jean had remembered very well. Had been dating for a few months when it had happened, and although they had gotten close to the deed before, they didn’t actually do it until Jean’s birthday one year.

They had been making out in their room, when Marco gently pushed Jean against the wall. They both were anticipating what was coming, they were both excited and nervous, they were both getting right into the mood when Eren fucking Jaeger in the next room banged on the wall and told him to keep quiet, because some people were trying to sleep.

Jean smiled sadly at the memory.

Jean was unsure what this clue was hinting at. “The walls,” his inner voice said.

So Jean spent the next half hour scanning the walls. He was about to give up when he noticed the ventilation shaft.

“For fucks sake,” he whispered. What were the chances of Marco hiding something up there?

He had to check anyway. He pulled chair up and found that the screws holding the latch on the shaft secure were loose. That made it possible for him to pull it off easily. 

What did you know: some more paper was stuffed inside.

This time it was a single sheet, barely even legible.

_“R A B_

_B L F”_

That was it.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Jean moaned, before hearing footsteps. “Fuck.”

He silently as possible rehung the latch in place before searching for a hiding place. There was a desk in one corner; from the other side he should be invisible – as long as they didn’t sit on the chair beside it.

Jean dived underneath the table, clutching the papers.

Once he was satisfied he wouldn’t be seen, he turned his phone on silent. He had seen too many movies to be caught out by that trick.

He turned around so he could see through the crack between the desk and the wall.

Jean realized that the approaching footsteps could be the footsteps of Marco’s killers.

He held his breath.

“It’s a pity he got involved,” came a first, female voice. 

“Do you regret killing him?” asked a second. This one was male.

Jean realized with a jolt that he knew these voices.

“No. It was inconvenient though. We had to move all of our equipment to our safe house and clear the whole place for any evidence that we had been here. Bertholdt even had to go through all of the security cameras and feed a loop so the police wouldn’t see anything suspicious.” The female again.

_“Be wary of security cameras.”_

“It wasn’t too hard,” came a third voice, this one nervous. “I was able to download it onto my phone, then upload the loop through my phone.”

“Amazing what you can do today if you’re able to hack into a system,” chuckled the second voice.

The three came into sight and Jean had to stifle a gasp.

The third voice was Bertholdt Fubar – a kid who Jean had gone to college with. 

Someone who had been friends with him and Marco.

His gut boiled with anger.

That bastard! It took all of his self-control not to burst out from hiding and strangle him with his bare hands.

“Wait,” the first, female speaker said again, coming into sight.

Annie. Annie Leonhart.

Jean felt his heart sink. Another kind-of, sort-of, friend. He and Marco hadn’t been as close with Annie as they had with Bertholdt, but it still stung. There they were, discussing their murder of Marco as casually as one might discuss the weather.

“You deleted the files, right?” Annie asked sharply. “The files from the security cameras.”

Bertholdt flinched. “Not yet, I’ll do it now though! There isn’t a security camera on this floor, but from the footage from the third floor you can hear Marco and what he was saying.”

Jean shifted so that he could see the second speaker. Reiner Braun. He wasn’t surprised, only angry. He clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms and drew blood.  
He then had an idea. Jean, as silently as he could, took out his phone and sent Eren a text.

“jaeger this is urgent do u have bertholdt fubar from college’s number”

He held his breath as he waited for a reply.

“We must avoid failure at all costs,” Reiner said. “We’ve come so far, if we pull this off we can show the higher ups what we’re made of!”

Eren replied.

“yeah horseface its 0263 397 8930”

For the first time in his life, Jean ignored the horse jokes.

“eren this is urgent i need you to get in ur car and meet me at rose shopping mall”

Jean had a plan formulating in his head. He had worked it out:

_“R A B_

_B L F”_

It was the killers’ initials. Reiner, Annie, Bertholdt. Braun, Leonhart, Fubar.

“wtf jean i cant someone of us actually have to work”

Jean cursed mentally. He needed the Bertholdt’s phone, but chances were that he had a password. If he could get Bertholdt to unlock his phone, he might just have a chance at bursting out, nabbing the phone and escaping via the fire escape. He’d run to Rose Shopping Mall and send the files to his own phone, hope in Eren’s car and get Eren to drive him to the police station.

It was a long shot, but if he had the element of surprise on his side it just might work, but only if he had Eren’s co-operation.

“eren this is fucking serious. marco was murdered and i have proof but unless i have a quick getaway, unless youre waiting for me at the mall ill be caught and end up dead too”

Jean prayed to any god out there that Eren would co-operate.

“fuckin hell jean. im on my way.”

Jean could’ve cried in relief. He needed to wait a few minutes before making his move, otherwise Eren wouldn’t be there on time. He tuned back into the killers conversation.  
They had to be stopped. If they weren’t they would set a bomb off in the city and kill many people.

“I feel sorry for Marco, y’know?” said Reiner. “He was delivering drugs so he could pay for an operation for his mother. But he overheard too much. He could have lived, but he tried to do the right thing and tell everyone. He nearly got away with it too.”

“If we hadn’t chanced upon him snooping around here he would have had enough evidence to go to the police,” Bertholdt said.

“This isn’t the time for sentimentality,” Annie said. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing we can do about it.”

Silence for a moment.

“Hey, that chair wasn’t there last night,” Reiner said, pointing at the chair Jean had used to climb up to the vent. “It was over at the desk.”

Shit shit shit shit.

“Someone’s been in here,” Annie said.

“The police?” suggested Bertholdt.

“I came to check by once the police had left,” Reiner said. “Someone’s been here since. They could be here now.”

Eren text back.  
“here”

Jean quickly sent a message to Bertholdt. It was a simple, one word long message.

“murderer”

Jean heard the beep of Bertholdt’s phone and watched as the tall man took it out and unlocked it. He saw confusion and shame mix on Bertl's face as he read it. Whirlwind emotions flew through Jean: anger, fear, regret. He was in very real danger, one wrong move and he could end up like a bloody mess on the ground like Marco.

Marco.

Jean heaved into the desk, pushing it away. Reiner and Bertholdt barely had time to react before Jean had darted across and snatched the phone out of Bertholdt’s hand. Annie was quicker, and her leg met Jean’s and he nearly toppled. However, his momentum and desperation kept him going, and he burst through the doors to the fire escape.

He could hear Reiner cursing. “Jean!” yelled Bertholdt.

Jean kept tapping the touch screen so that it wouldn’t lock automatically. He was on the third floor, he could hear Reiner and Bertholdt in pursuit. Second floor, he could see a car parked outside the warehouse. Must be belonging to one of them. First floor, he jumped the last few steps. He landed awkwardly and little shocks of pain jolted through his leg, but he kept running.

Jean broke into a sprint, running across the road, ignoring angry drivers. His blood was rushing in his ears, his heart hammered against a ribcage. This was it: if he could get out of here, how many people could he save?

He tapped the phone again, and kept sprinting through the streets, through the crowds of shoppers, not even apologizing.

Reiner and Bertholdt were no long pursuing.

So he thought until he saw the car. Reiner was driving, and they both looked furious. Jean felt despair tug at him. He couldn’t outrun a car.

“Kirstein!” came a yell. Jean turned to see Eren’s car parked across the street. He ran across, narrowly avoiding being hit by a truck. Jaeger had the passenger door open for him, and Jean threw himself in. The door barely closed before Jaeger had his foot to the floor.

“Police station!” Jean yelled, still high on adrenaline.

“I’m going, I’m going!”

Jean pointed to the car behind them. “That’s them,” he wheezed. “They murdered Marco!”

“What the fuck?” Eren roared. “Reiner and Bertholdt?”

“And Annie.”

“No fucking way,” Eren hissed. “Jesus Christ Kirstein, you’re definitely living up to crime correspondent!”

“No fucking kidding!” Jean yelled, searching through the files on Bertholdt’s phone. He found one with a thumbnail of security footage. He quickly sent it to himself before checking his own phone.

His mouth was dry as he opened the file. It was video footage from one of the security cameras. Jean skimmed through it quickly until he saw Marco passing through, going to the next floor. Soon after, Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt passed through. Jean played it in normal time, and turned the volume up.

 

“I’m sorry Marco,” came Bertholdt’s voice. “I wish it wasn’t you.”

“Why are you doing this?” came Marco’s voice. Jean’s heart jumped. Eren glanced at Jean; he knew probably better than anyone else how much Jean missed Marco. “Why are you planning to kill loads of people? Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” came Annie’s cold voice.

“We don’t want to do it,” said Reiner. “But we have to. No more than we don’t want to kill you, but we have to.”

“Kill me?” Marco’s voice was panicked. “No, wait. Stay back Annie. Listen to me, all of you.”

“The time for talk is over,” Annie said sharply.

“No- ANNIE! WAI-”

Marco’s scream was terrible as he fell. And then;

A sickening crunch.

 

“Fuck,” Eren breathed. “No, no, no. That’s fucked up. Oh shit.”

Jean was sobbing. He didn’t know when he began to cry but now fierce sobs were racking his body, tears flowing freely from his eyes. Usually he would be so embarrassed to cry in front of Eren, but he didn’t care.

Eren’s hand was on his arm. “Jean,” he said shakily. “This is fucked up, man. But we need to get to the police with this. D’you other evidence?”

Jean nodded. “They’re going to bomb Main Street,” he managed.

“Fucking hell,” Eren yelled. He looked in the rearview mirror. Reiner’s car was gaining on them. Eren slammed his foot to the floor, and the car lurched forward with a burst of speed, breaking a red light and narrowly missing a cyclist. Eren managed to bridge a gap between the two cars before making a sharp turn and pulling in. He yanked off his hoodie and his hat and gave them to Jean.

“Put these on and go into McDonald’s,” he pointed at the restaurant they had pulled up at. “There’s two entrances, go out the other one. Then run to the police and get these to them.” Eren looked so angry, angry tears in his own eyes. “And make those fuckers pay.”

Jean nodded, determination replacing sadness. He leapt out of the car and darted into McDonald’s, just in time to see Eren speed away, followed by Bertholdt and Reiner. 

Eren threw Bertholdt’s phone in a bin. He had heard stories about tracking people’s phones, and Annie hadn’t been in the car. He couldn’t underestimate her.

He darted out of McDonalds, and began the run to the police station.

***

_“And so, because of the brave work of journalist Jean Kirstein, the Trost Police Department was able to find and arrest Reiner Braun, Annie Leonhart and Bertholdt Fubar, all members of a Terrorist Organization called The Titans. The trio were found with explosives and plan to set off a bomb in the heart of Trost City. Kirstein also had evidence to prove the three were guilty of murdering Marco Bott, a man originally believed to have committed suicide._

_“We made a grievious mistake,” says the chief of police, Keith Shadis. “Kirstein even came to me and shared his suspicians, but we didn’t believe him. We’ll double our efforts in the future.”_

_The three terrorists have been charged with murder and attempted mass murder and have been sentenced to life imprisonment. That’s it for us, at Trost News. Have a nice day!”_

Erwin Smith turned off the TV before looking at Jean.

“Wow,” he said. "Impressive." Then; “I’m sorry about Marco.”

“Yeah,” Jean said. “Me too.” 

Jean reached into his bag, and pulled out a few sheets of paper and placed them on Erwin’s desk.

Erwin raised an eyebrow. “Your article?”

Jean nodded.

Erwin gave a smile. “Well, your adventures will certainly make the front page this week.”

Jean gave a small smile. “Good,” he said. “I’d like my last report to make it to the front page.”

Erwin frowned. “Last?”

***

Cameras and microphones and paparazzi swarmed Jean as he talked. It had been like this for a while: he had been regarded as a hero for preventing the bombing. Reporters from every newspaper in the country had interview him.

“Mr. Kirstein! I heard you quit your job as a reporter at Scouting Legion? Why?”

Jean hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“I wasn’t cut out for writing,” he admitted as the cameras flashed. “I never had any inspiration. But after finding out about Marco and having to find his murderers without help from the police, I suddenly got inspiration. Marco was my inspiration. I never want someone in this city to have to solve something like that alone. That’s why I’ve joined the police academy as a police cadet. When I graduate, I’m going to become a detective, and help other people find out the truth about their loved ones.” Jean smiled softly. “It’s all Marco though; Marco’s the one who inspired me to do this.”

He smiled again for the camera, one hand holding his letters from Marco in his pocket.

He kept the original letters of course. Even though they reminders for what had happened to the freckled boy, they also contained the words Jean had missed so much.

“I love you”

_Yeah Marco, I love you too._

**Author's Note:**

> yooo i couldn't pass up jeanmarco week but i only found out about it last week so i've nothing written for the first prompt oops  
> anyway please please send feedback on what you thought for this! i love getting feedback and gosh it only takes a few seconds but it means a lot so i'd appreciate if you could leave a comment  
> anyway if you keep an eye out i'll probably do another one shot tomorrow for prompt #3 reincarnation  
> thanks so much for reading <3
> 
> catch me on tumblr: http://gaaradical.tumblr.com/  
> jeanmarco week: http://jeanmarcoweek.tumblr.com/


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